Shattering the Stained Glass
by LabyrinthDweller
Summary: It used to get so quiet in the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers would come running. I would tell them I was "Just checking!" The look on their face was always priceless.


_Hmm, I dunno, I just wanted to write this all of the sudden._

_Incidentally, young Alistair reminds me of young Dmitri from Anastasia._**  
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><p><strong>Shattering the Stained Glass<strong>

Alistair walked down the immense hallway, peering through the columns at the various shrines, statues, and windows dedicated to the Maker, the various marble carvings of Andraste and her beaming rays of light. It was certainly magnificent and surprisingly well-lit—even in the middle of the day the towering stone of the cathedral shut out most light, only letting the squares and triangles of the stained glass windows to cast abstract rainbows upon the long red rug that ran from the door to the altar. Granted, the suitable, festive lighting came at the price of the steady smell of burning wax and trails of smoke muddying the domed ceilings and archways up ahead. The hall was daunting for a boy of his age, especially alone at such an hour.

The rest of the brothers and the students akin to him were in the dining hall, eating porridge for lunch. Alistair had snuck away after stuffing a bread roll in his pocket, free to roam the Chantry halls as he pleased now that he was no longer under supervision. Biting into the buttery roll, he chewed thoughtfully as crumbs fell from his chin and down onto his meager clothing. He _supposed_ the hall was grand and imposing and majestic, and it certainly did make some fear the justice of the Maker after such an impression was made here, but...there's nothing that could be said that this all wasn't just a bunch of hooey. Not to say that he outright didn't _believe_ in the Maker, no. He'd just like to think what the brothers and sisters would do in a situation where they found out they were wrong. Entirely, horrendously wrong. Alistair giggled at the thought.

The echo of his mirth bounced back at him and his giggling ceased. Some devilish part of him wanted to play with the echoes around, wanted to see how they'd dance around the pillars back to his ears. Maybe he'd try a high-pitched girly voice, maybe he'd try his best hulking Qunari voice though he probably wouldn't do that very well, as prepubescent as he was. But he didn't want to try it; echoing too much might bring the attention of the fasting brothers. They weren't anywhere near the altar hallway, but no doubt they'd be around to hear the echoes of a mischievous young boy. Alistair shut his mouth and continued to walk, eating the roll as he went.

It was so silent here. Even on its quiet days in Redcliffe Castle you would still be able to hear birds; sparrows in the spring, crows in the fall, chickadees in the winter and gulls and songbirds in the summer. The Castle was nothing like the Chantry, nothing at all. It was so quiet here. Alistair sucked the butter residue from his fingertips.

So quiet.

Others might call it peaceful, but...Alistair did not find peace here. Trees outside the stained glass windows would sway and move, but he could not hear the wind. Every now and then he'd sweep his hand over the candles, just so he could hear the small flame sputter and choke in surprise before regaining its flickering stance, a little indignant but still the sound was too quiet. The fluttering hum of the disturbed candles did not even echo against the closest pillar. Alistair puffed out a breath through his nose and pouted. There was positively no noise here, ever. Even in the school rooms the boys were _quieter_ than mice. You could drop a pin needle and they would flinch.

No, you could drop a pin needle, and you wouldn't even hear the sound because the great stone walls of the Chantry and the dry, sober gaze of the brothers and sisters would eat up the noise before it happened. Hmph. There really _was _positively no noise here. Alistair was the noisiest thing about and the loudest noise he made today was when he cried out in despair when his chair fell out from underneath him as he was leaning against it. The disapproving stares of the brothers shut him up quickly though he tried to laugh it off.

That, however, wasn't the loudest sound he's ever made in the Chantry.

Standing in the altar hallway made the silence press in on his ears, and he began to feel as though he was in great danger. Boxed in smaller and smaller containers, Alistair, looked up at the biggest stained glass window the Chantry boasted of, and wondered if he could shatter it.

Alistair opened his mouth and screamed.

There was little emotion behind it, he was screaming just to scream, his lungs full to their peak until they gradually deflated. He kept his volume high and proud, and when his breath ran out he sucked in another and screamed again. The pale transparent eyes of Andraste stared down unflinchingly at him, and he tried his best to channel his voice at her, his neck turning hot red. The goddess seemed to peer at him curiously, wondering what he was doing and why. A cocky smirk crossed his features and he screamed one more time as metal armor disturbed the peace of the Chantry as many templars followed by a few brothers scrambled into the hall to where the boy was standing and shouting. When he saw the templars near him he skittered back, stifling his laughter. The looks of fear and concern quickly shifted to disgust and annoyance as they stared at him. One of the templar's hands, someone Alistair recognized as someone he had often been arrested by, even twitched as though it could feel Alistair's young throat beneath his fingers.

A brother stepped forward and Alistair, upon recognizing his face, audibly gulped.

"Again, young mister Alistair?" the Abbot Chanter frowned, "You wasted us a good two bottles of ink last you did this in the school room. Are you quite satisfied?"

Alistair lowered his head "I didn't waste anything this time,"

"What was that, young mister Alistair?" The Abbot Chanter demanded. Alistair twisted his mouth in a frown and looked away so he wouldn't have to see the Abbot's feet.

"What's the matter with you, child?" The Abbot chastised as he took a step forward, "All the other boys who have _worse_ backgrounds than you fare so much better and do so much more _well_ than you, and yet you _persist _to pester us!" The Abbot Chanter grabbed a hold of Alistair's chin and forced him to look at the old man's face. The Abbot's fingers were stiff and wide, uncomfortable and unmerciful to the soft skin on Alistair's jaw.

"What are you going to do, lock me in the tower dungeon?" Alistair suggested sarcastically. The Abbot cuffed him on the head.

"Thank Andraste we have the mercy to care for you! A boy of your status may as well be off on the chopping block, dead as stone, m'lad!"

Alistair flinched and lowered his head again, hiding a scowl that formed from the bitter taste in his mouth.

"Dear heavens, sometimes I think it would've been so much easier if you were born the _proper_ way, and then your screaming would be on someone else's shoulders. Such demeanor this Chantry hasn't seen for nigh a century!"

Alistair's hands balled up into fists as the various templars dismissed themselves back to their posts and duties.

"_Maker's breath_, go to your dorm, and stay there until I summon you. Ser Willis, if you will."

Alistair twisted his head as he was unceremoniously led to the dormitories. Catching a glimpse of Andraste's face, he sneered at the curiosity in her eyes.

_Who are you and why are you here?_

He gulped down saliva in order to restrain himself from spitting.

_Nobody. I'm just a normal boy, that's all. Stop looking at me like that. Leave me alone._

The next time he screamed he had to run from the templars so they wouldn't catch him.


End file.
